Bulletproof
by Krahae
Summary: Ranma's rather normal - for him - college plans are shaken up when he gets a job offer, working for one of the best academies in the world. The catch? He'll need to become an Artist of War. Lucky for him, his new partner knows the ropes.


There will be: language, nudity, sex, violence, death, and rather detailed descriptions of such. I'm an adult, and a writer. I revel in the coincidence that I'm also an adult writer.

I only own what someone else does not.

AN: This may end up a one-off. I want to continue it, but currently it's on the backburner, and I have a habit of wandering around. I like how I started it, the way I've set up the world, but I'm unsure how to really pull in the Negima side, and how much. Currently, the plan was working off a contract/employer situation, with Mana and Ranma as a field ops team. Spoilery, but well, see the above. On with it.

–

**Bulletproof**

_Chapter One: Ringout_

–

"So, why're we doing this again?"

Nabiki spared her companion on the train a droll glance. "Really, Ranma, I thought you were getting better at this sort of thing. We're going to the tournament to get you some publicity. The prize money is nice, but the effect this will have on your modeling career will be worth more in the long run." Pulling out her PDA, the middle Tendo opened up a spreadsheet and held the device out for Ranma to see. "Look at the projected effects. The numbers speak for themselves, really-"

"Nabs," the cursed young man interrupted in a tired voice, "I meant riding on a train, when I could have gotten us both there a half hour ago."

"Oh," the brunette replied, before rolling her eyes. "I didn't want to mess up my hair or swallow a bug like last time."

Ranma shook his head with a half grin, leaning against the window on the train they were taking to the Kyoto Multidisciplinary Martial Tournament. "If you hadn't been screaming like an extra in a horror flick..."

"Forgive me for being a little weirded out that I was being carried at around _sixty kilometers per hour_, through a metropolitan area," the older girl replied with a flat glare. "Besides, sometimes it's nice to just relax, Ranma. Everything doesn't have to be an excuse to push yourself."

The martial artist shrugged noncommittally. Nabiki had been pushing that particular angle for a while now, and it was starting to make him wonder if she knew something he didn't. "Well, it's how I am, Nabs, you know that. Everything is training."

With a sigh, the middle Tendo leaned on her taller companion's shoulder. "Whatever you say, Ranma. Just promise me to try and have a little fun? We'll be cooped up enough once we start at cram school."

"No problem, Nabs. This is a martial arts tournament after all."

Her frown hidden by the angle she had adopted against the young man's side, Nabiki couldn't help but feel like she wasn't getting through to Ranma. Regardless, she'd promised herself to try, for both their sakes, to let this be as much fun as it was work. She owed him that much, at least, for all he'd done and continued to do for their family.

–

Ranma approached the frankly huge coliseum that proved to be their goal with an expression of open amazement. "Damn, Nabs – this place is big. I've been in a lot of publicized matches, but this is nuts."

"Well, if we're going to move forward with our plans, we need to start going for the big-time," Nabiki explained, though she too was somewhat stunned by the sight presented before them, from atop the small hill that overlooked the chosen location for the KMMT competition. Unlike Ranma, however, she was staring at the sheer number of people that had turned out, as demonstrated by the massive lines and booked-solid parking nearby. "Cram school, materials, living costs, savings, repairs, then finally university admission and fees... it all adds up."

Nodding silently, Ranma took a few more moments to drink in the sights of this new battlefield before grinning widely. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Nabiki had just enough time to wonder what Ranma was planning before she got scooped up bridal-style and the world became a blur. "Damn it, Ranma!"

Chucking above the screeching girl in his arms, Ranma relaxed significantly. It just didn't feel like a real challenge, until he heard those three magic words.

He was careful to wait for Nabiki to calm down before approaching the coliseum, however, as he didn't want to get into a misunderstanding with security. Much as he liked to get under the mercenary Tendo's skin some days, he didn't want to complicate their day, after all the planning they'd done to get here. Setting the flushed and irritated girl down, he backed off a pace as she began swatting at him with her purse. "Damn, damn... just... oooh!" The annoyance melted away to be replaced by a rueful grin, "Alright, well you got me that time," she admitted, as Ranma made a gesture as it tallying points on a board. "That only leaves me ahead by thirty."

Ranma's pleased expression turned brittle. "I don't recall your lead being that big..."

"But don't worry," Nabiki commented airily as she passed by, "I fully plan to get you back for this."

Heaving a sigh, the pigtailed martial artist turned and kept abreast of his companion. Nearing the gate and the admissions booths, Ranma noted the price for entry and competition registration. "Fun and games aside, you sure I need to enter twice? It's not cheap, and we're already pushing our funds."

Nabiki nodded, sparing him a grin over her shoulder. "We should be fine. Think of it like an investment. We pay a little now, for a big payoff later." Her light tone disappearing, the middle Tendo's glance turned serious. "Just keep the ego under control. You've never faced these people, and we know that your biggest weakness is underestimating an opponent. Don't get cocky and get surprised because you took a stupid risk."

"Hey, I'm not an idiot," the taller of the two groused. "I've only been doing this kind of thing all my life, you know. You don't see me lecturing you on finances."

He stalled in his tirade as Nabiki put a hand on his shoulder. "It _is_ my job as your business partner, though," she reminded him, getting a faint nod in reply. "I'm just looking out for you."

"Right," Ranma replied, still not quite used to someone who gave him advice without it being hidden by insults, jibes, taunts and smears against his honor and manhood. Sighing quietly as they approached the booth, he had to admit, Nabiki was trying hard. The least he could do was return the favor. "I'll be serious. Don't worry, Nabs. Too much is riding on this."

"I know. We're not kids anymore," she replied, somewhat wistfully.

Stepping up to the counter, she flashed the man behind it a sharklike smile. "Two registrations, please."

"Names?"

"Ranma and Ranko Tendo."

–

Nabiki fumed as she took in their hotel room. "Damn it. I _distinctly_ asked for two rooms. If they were going to screw up, they could have at least screwed up so we had a room with two beds. Is that too much to ask?"

"Probably thought were married over the name thing," Ranma called from the bathroom. "Can't be helped, I guess. The tournament has the entire city booked solid."

"And I can't even justify taking the bed, since he's going to be doing all the work," the middle Tendo muttered petulantly. Getting an idea, she went to Ranma's bags quietly and began sifting through clothes for a minute, her mischievous expression falling the longer she looked. Finally after five minutes she gave up, stomping over to the bathroom. "Ranma, where are your girl clothes?"

Light chuckling, in the wrong timbre answered her. "In here. Don't sweat it Nabs, you can share the bed with me."

"Sleeping in girl-type?"

"After the last incident with your roaming hands?" Ranma's laugh became clear as the now-female martial artist opened the door, a toothbrush loaded with paste in hand. "You bet. I thought I was gonna die from embarrassment."

Nabiki's blush matched Ranma's own at that memory. "Well," she replied, coughing into her fist. "At least we know the name's appropriate."

"Oi!" Ranma's half-hearted complaints died off, as she started snickering. "Though you gotta admit, getting walked in on by Kasumi while you were sleep-talking about tennis rackets was pretty funny."

"I've never seen her so flustered," the middle Tendo muttered around her own toothbrush. "Girl really needs to get out more."

Sobering, Ranma nodded. "You think we can do this? Raise enough money to keep the dojo going, and get everyone at least into college?"

Leaning back against the bathroom door, Nabiki's eyes glazed over in the fashion Ranma knew meant she was mentally crunching numbers. "The investments I made with mom's insurance money have been doing well, and keeping the property and living expenses paid for, but only just. Anything above that – vacations, repairs, the father's stupid binges – those I managed from my... extracurricular activities." Ranma nodded, knowing well enough what Nabiki meant. "This is going to be big. Bigger than the signing contracts we got for you to model, but it'll pay off there too. If you win-"

"_When_ I win," Ranma corrected.

"..._when_ you win," the middle Tendo allowed with a smirk, "it'll just get your name out more. The modeling contracts we didn't take up immediately we can then renegotiate for a higher bonus and bottom line." Chewing her lip, the brunette shrugged. "I'd like to get more out of the two contracts we got for you now, but those I agreed to because the parent companies are super-competitive. They'll spread news about you all on their own, meaning less PR work for me, meaning we get more done, faster."

Ranma hopped up onto the wash basin counter, a thoughtful look on her face. "So, for the two of us to get into Toudai, you estimated about one and one-quarter million yen, right?" Seeing Nabiki nod, Ranma went on. "Then the tournament should cover about everything, shouldn't it? And with a lot to spare?"

"If we _only_ had to worry about flat costs," the Tendo daughter reminded. "We can't commute to college from the dojo, meaning an apartment, which is a huge drain on funds on its own. And then there are books, your bottomless stomach, and cram school to figure in before we even _get_ that far. So, yeah. Lets just assume more is better, and if we come out above cost – great. Much better than frantically working to compensate after the fact."

"Hm, true," Ranma admitted, though it still irked her somewhat that she had to resort to modeling in her girl-type for a large chunk of their initial funds. The signing bonuses for those contracts were nice though. More than she'd imagined, really. "So, we take the bonuses, 'invest' it in this tournament, get the payoff, turn around and use my reputation after for more contracts, and we should be set?"

"We could just rely on the tournament," Nabiki admitted though she clearly wasn't happy with the idea. "But then we'd only just make our goal, if that, and only for the first year for us for college. So really, all the other arrangements I made along with this are only helping."

Rinsing her mouth out, the redhead nodded. "Alright, well I'm sold. Just wanted to make sure I had it all straight."

Nabiki smirked. "Don't worry about the financial stuff. Just go do what you usually do out there, and I'll do the same."

"Aye, aye, boss!"

Laughing, the now-taller girl shoved the petite Ranma out of the bathroom. "Go to bed. I'm going to soak and imagine all the zeroes after our bank accounts after this is over with."

Ranma blinked, then adopted a thoughtful demeanor. "Sooo... I should wear earmuffs for a bit?"

"Out!" a red-faced Nabiki ordered, while the giggling martial artist adjusted the invisible tally yet again.

–

Knowing Ranma wasn't the most coherent person in the world once he – or in this case _she_ – had gone to sleep, Nabiki smirked as she emptied a small packet of powder into a glass of cold water. "Nabiki Tendo's recipe for hilarity, in four easy steps."

Peering around the bathroom door, she ensured that yes – Ranma was snoring contentedly, while curled up cutely on her side of the bed. "First, take one groggy, girl-type Ranma.

"Next, stir in one dose, instant Spring of Drowned Man..." Nabiki took a deep breath, before dumping the mixture over her own head. In a more masculine timbre, the now-male Nabiki admired _him_self in the mirror. "No 'Wild Horse', but then it'll do," he observed with a wicked grin.

"Step three..." he began, before trailing off, as he quietly, carefully made his way to the other side of the bed. Slipping under the blankets, Nabiki managed to scoot right up behind the slumbering redhead, without waking her.

Grin never leaving his face, Nabiki reached out and pulled himself flush up and around the sleeping Ranma. Now in a classical spooning posture, complete with a handful of breast, Nabiki began the last phase of his plan. Breathing huskily into the slowly waking redhead's ear, he murmured, "Ohhh, Ranma-chan. That was amazing... and on the first night of our honeymoon too."

Mind suddenly kicked into overdrive by the fact she was in an unfamiliar room, in a bed, with a man, as a girl, with _that_ poking her in the rear Ranma did the only thing she could think of. "Kyaaaaaaa!"

Nabiki propped his head up on his hand, as he observed the frantic Ranma scuttling away on her behind after falling into the floor in a tangle of sheets, eyes big as saucers. "Step four – profit," he murmured before losing his composure with a Kodachi-worthy laugh, while updating his own side of the tally.

–

"That was low even for you, Nabs," a grumpy redhead muttered around a cavernous yawn, to the woman walking by her side as they made the short way to the coliseum for the first day's matches. The redhead in question – who was the shorter of the two – had a long duffel over her shoulder and was dressed in a clean, well cared-for if slightly unusual Gi, bearing the markings and trappings that proclaimed her as a master of the Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū. It was unusual, in that the sleeves were uncharacteristically wide and long for such a garment, marking it as a custom make. Oddly, there was also no divisional School listed. Beside her a smartly-dressed young woman with a page-boy haircut strode, looking very professional in a suit jacket and skirt in charcoal colors.

A content smirk plastered on her face that even Saffron couldn't budge, Nabiki buffed her nails on her suit's lapel for effect. "Mess with the best at your peril, dear Ranma."

Eyebrow twitching, the martial artist reminded herself that revenge was a dish best served cold, and that she had other things to do today. Annoyance dissipating like morning mist, Ranma grinned. Today was going to be _fun_. "Can't wait to start the matches. I haven't been to something like this in far too long."

"Well, if you're bored afterward, we could always check out some of the local rumors before heading back to Nerima," Nabiki added, to Ranma's confusion. "Well, how good can these people be? You've already taken out ghosts, demons, giant Orochi-things, a half-dragon, and a phoenix. I'm not even going to list the Joketsuzoku, or all the other martial arts challenges from crazy Schools you've faced."

Her good mood dimmed slightly as Ranma had to agree. Though it had been a while since she'd been in a contest like this, how good could these people be? Certainly not up to Herb's caliber, she figured, and the Musk prince was likely the only person she knew now that could actually put up a decent spar with her. This was just a Tokyo-area competition after all.

Nabiki saw the results of her words and cursed her pragmatic nature. Thinking quickly, she threw an arm around the redhead's shoulders. "But... think about all the possible new techniques you'll see. It won't just be about winning – draw the matches out and make them show you their secrets!"

Perking up slightly, Ranma's expression regained some of its life. "Y-Yeah. That's right, isn't it? There's gotta be some new stuff to learn here." Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Nabiki relaxed. "Besides, didn't you see the promotional flier? There's a free buffet for lunch, _every day!_"

"_Yep,_" Nabiki mused to herself as she tried to keep pace with a suddenly much more motivated Ramna-chan, "_still the same old Ranma._"

"So how are things organized?" Ranma asked as they made their way inside. Despite the crowd and numbers who had turned out to watch, it was a pretty clear walk, allowing them to look around easily.

Nabiki pulled a laminated guide from her purse, handing it over for Ranma to inspect. "Standard ladder, with three matches up at once." Seeing Ranma look up in concern, she grinned. "I spoke with the organizing team, Ranma and Ranko won't be on the floor at the same time, thanks to the way they're setting up matches. They don't want to do too many mixed male-female sets, apparently, and besides, the allocated ring for your bracket is a one match per set like the others."

Ranma nodded after folding her hands behind her head. "Well, that's good. I'd hate to have to break out the instant Twin water for this. That stuff is too damn expensive." Agreeing, the redhead's companion spotted the promoters, and a crowd she was more accustomed to dealing with – gamblers. "Got my pager if you need me," the martial artist reminded, to which Nabiki flashed her instant-dial on her cellphone.

"Got it." Though she planned to be careful, these events were big – much bigger than her usual fare, and it had made the mercenary girl more than a little nervous. This was a place where her reputation meant nothing, and where she had little information on the possible threats. That meant she had to be very careful, and barring that, ready to call Ranma if things went south. It wasn't a stretch of the imagination at all to think of the local hustlers singling out a single upstart, from outside their turf. Nabiki didn't plan to make waves, but she did plan on making a profit, every way possible.

The two broke off, Nabiki heading for the stands and her familiar turf, while Ranma made her way down into the lockers, to stretch and scope out the competition. If she was lucky, there'd be some light sparring and practice she could look in on.

–

After picking up the first round schedule for both forms, Ranma found the waiting area, and made herself at home. There wasn't much chance, she realized once there, of picking up anything from the waiting fighters, so settled in for a long morning of waiting.

While idly watching the first fights of the day, the redhead made a plan for how to escalate things as time went on. The basic plan was to show only the minimum force and skill needed to defeat an opponent, without giving away anything of her more complex and esoteric styles. She didn't need to go all-out in the beginning, as it wasn't very likely she'd run across a strong opponent first thing. Let the matches flow into an increasing curve of effort. Both she and Nabiki would benefit from that, as the betting wouldn't get skewed off the start, and Ranma would still be fresh late in the game. Recalling Nabiki's words, she did however plan on being careful.

The goal, despite her desire to take more of the Art away from this than she brought with her, was to win. Everyone back home was counting on that, and her own future depended on winning as well. Ranma didn't want to end up like Genma, who may have been strong in the Art, but had no other skills to rely on, or knowledge to pass on. That was one of the reasons that she ended up as uneducated as she did. Genma's own lack of education colored his view of such things. When – and if – she decided to get married, her children were going to have a father who could support or help them, Art or no.

"And, yes," Ranma reminded herself firmly, "_father._"

It was Ranma's fifth match of the day – third as a male – that things began to finally pick up.

Taking the highest payoff bracket also meant that Ranma was forced to fight different styles and methods, which suited the martial artist fine. Anything less would have been cripplingly boring. Some found this highly dangerous, because it forced unarmed specialists into the ring with weapon users, but overall there were few injuries. The truly careless or unprepared were eliminated early, so those lacking the control to avoid fatalities never made it far.

It helped that the organizing teams that put together the matches researched them all. Kuno – either of them – would never have been let in the door. Ideally. That wasn't to say, however, that there were no injuries, or that those filters were perfect, or even expected to be.

Prepping for his fifth match, Ranma was pulled aside by a somewhat worried Nabiki. "Hey Nabs, didn't expect to see you down here in the pit."

"Pit?" Looking around, the young woman didn't see anything that made that moniker fit any more appropriately than not, so shrugged. "Eh, whatever. I came to warn you about the next guy you're fighting."

Raising a brow, Ranma carefully took a long drink from a bottle of water. He was hoping that all the swapping forms he'd do today would neutralize the water-magnet portion of the curse, but it didn't pay to be reckless. "What about him?"

"He's not a martial artist _per se_," the concerned girl stated. "He's a brawler. A street fighter. And a damn brutal one, if the two other guys they carried out on stretchers are any indication."

Ranma blinked at that little bit of news, when teamed with Nabiki's blatant worry. "How bad?"

Nabiki's brow furrowed as she recalled the laundry-list of injuries the news crew near her had been spouting off. "Dislocated and ruptured shoulder joint, same to a hip, and an obliterated knee," she began, seeing Ranma's expression darken. "More broken bones that I want to recall, and the last guy they think had a skull fracture around his eye. Lot of internal bruising and bleeding to go with that, aside form the usual black-and-blue."

"He not know this is a competition, not a cage-fight?"

"Who knows," Nabiki shrugged helplessly. "I heard that he's a local favorite. Maybe it was a popularity or ratings issue. This is televised, after all."

Nodding tersely, Ranma considered what he wanted to do, versus what he needed to, and came to an easy compromise. "He'd still get matches, right? Even if he looses?"

Nabiki signaled an affirmative. "Yeah, they still need to resolve the lower ladders, so he'd get more fights as the tournament continues."

"Thanks, Nabs," Ranma replied, standing to stretch with a groan. "Suppose I should go make sure he's in no shape to continue then, huh?"

The middle Tendo blinked for a moment, before slugging her companion in the arm. "You idiot, I didn't come down here and warn you because I wanted you to 'handle' this!"

Backing away with his hands in the air, Ranma laughed nervously. "Hey, I know, I know ok! Calm down." Seeing that Nabiki wasn't on the verge of violence anymore, the pigtailed martial artist let himself smile. "I get what you meant, alright? We got to look out for one another."

"Right," the older girl agreed with a huff. "So don't get cocky and let him get in a lucky shot! We've got too much riding on this." Her tirade died off as the Ranma wrapped her in a brief hug. "Wha-"

"Thanks for the warning, Nabs," Ranma murmured. "It ain't often anyone's been really worried about me and just admits it. So, y'know, don't ruin the moment."

"Idiot," the middle Tendo muttered against his shoulder. "I've always worried about you." Extracting herself and holding the young man at arm's length, she favored him with a canny grin. "After all, can't have my favorite cash-cow getting taken out of the picture, right?"

Ranma just shook his head and waved the smirking brunette off. "Get out of here, Nabs. I'll be careful."

With his back turned, he missed the girl's former expression die away, to be replaced by one of true concern. Lingering for only a moment longer, Nabiki took a breath and marched back up to her chosen post in the middle of the betting pools.

Tightening the belt of his Gi, Ranma nodded resolutely. "Lets go."

–

"Welcome, everyone, to match thirty-five of the Kyoto Multidisciplinary Martial Tournament!"

Ranma was slowly acclimatizing to the odd organization that went on in the KMMT, but it was still a bit surreal to look up at the ceiling-mounted screens, and see himself magnified to the point he was fifteen meters tall. Thirty meters away to either side of him, the other two fights were in progress, their own monitors displaying the action in closeup and panned out, as the nearby judges tallied points. He wouldn't need to worry about that in his matches, considering the bracket he'd chosen was to K.O. or yield.

"Our contestants for match thirty-five are Ranma Tendo, of the Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū from Nerima versus Bajura Koto, of local street-boxing fame!"

The pigtailed martial artist looked across the demarcated circle that made up the boundaries of the ring, seeing his opponent for the first time. Bajura had the stereotypical 'bad boy' look going for him, with denim jeans, an overly tight t-shirt, under a long white jacket with the kanji for 'fight' in huge red print. The guy even had his hair dyed blonde, and styled up in a short crest that made Ranma think of a rooster. Though, he had to admit, the guy had some charisma to him, as he waved and played to the crowd, but by looks alone wasn't much. Bajura wasn't toned or even very muscular at all – in fact Ranma estimated Nabiki was in better shape. As he loosened his calves by bouncing on the balls of his feet a moment, Ranma wondered if maybe Nabiki got her information wrong. Watching the grandstanding street fighter across from as he tossed his jacket out of the ring with a flourish, the Nerimian martial artist hesitated, deciding to see what Koto had to offer, before going ahead with his plan.

"This match, like all those in Ring Three, are to knockout or yield! Contestants... fight!"

Well-honed instincts had Ranma diving forward and out of the way, as the brawler suddenly appeared in his strike-range, lashing out with a haymaker that was sloppy as hell and came out of nowhere and if he wasn't mistaken, could have damn near ripped his head off. Eyes narrowed, Ranma kipped up and lashed out with an arcing kick, warding the other man off as he reassessed his opponent.

"That... there was no way this kid could be this fast," Ranma thought to himself as he warily watched Bajura, who was making a show of calling in cheers and egging the audience on, practically ignoring him. A little peeved that he wasn't being taken seriously, Ranma went on the offensive, working to gauge and test the brawlers guard. He was shocked when Koto didn't even bother to put up a defense, taking the snap kick to the kidney he'd expected to miss from a dodge or be blocked.

Ranma's shock compounded when the blonde brawler just grinned nastily over his shoulder, reacting not at all to the hit. "Oya, can't ya see I'm busy?"

Something about the kid was starting to really bother Ranma, and it was only maybe half the attitude. There was an itch that settled under the cursed martial artist's skin. A buzz like cicadas in his ears. He knew he'd heard and felt that before, not just around the brawler, and he couldn't quite figure it out. Dropping low to dodge a clearly telegraphed punch, he observed the speed and power – both absolutely ludicrous considering the thug's apparent potential – and rolled to the side for the follow-up stomp. Ranma didn't bother to check the mat to see what the sharp crack that followed was. "No control," he observed quietly, while trying to puzzle out the other fighter. He didn't bother with the taunting banter that marked his usual methods – Bajura was already an uncontrolled mess.

The problem was, Ranma realized after landing a series of body blows, ending with a two-knuckle strike to Koto's floating rib, it didn't matter if the kid was a total mess in offense and defense, if nothing he did actually _mattered_. Demonstrating that point, Bajura utterly failed to notice even the last hit, which should have proved all-but fatal to anyone below Ryoga's durability. While attempting to use a roundhouse to mask his preparation to retreat and formulate a way past Koto's defense, Ranma got a knife-hand strike to his knee for the trouble. Favoring that leg, the martial artist frowned as he considered what would have happened had he not reinforced his body with ki for that hit. He'd been trying hard to mask the higher skills and esoteric abilities gained from years fighting in Nerima and abroad, but this brawler was actually pushing him, and he couldn't understand _how_.

While Bajura played to the crowd again, he finally noticed it. Watching closely, he noted what looked almost like – but which wasn't, clearly – Koto laughing, just before another pulse of whatever it was that made his skin itch washed over him. "He ain't got skill, or training. No form or style. No conditioning." Ranma blinked as the obvious became clear.

"Aw, man, more magical bullshit," he muttered, heaving a sigh. The realization cleared up the itch and buzzing, which was as far as the martial artist understood, some kind of reaction his curse had to any kind of nearby magic. It happened in Jusenkyo and Jusendo, often in the Nekohanten, and every now and then around Nerima, depending on what chaos happened to be infesting the area at the time, but usually it was obvious or expected and he wrote it off. Now, knowing, he began to plan. Glancing at the clock overhead, Ranma frowned. Three minutes since the match began.

Setting himself up to play a holding action and do some testing, Ranma ducked into Bajura's peripheral, and started hammering at him in earnest.

Surprise marked the brawler's face as Ranma discarded form and defense in trade for power, driving the blonde dyed fighter back not from any kind of damage or harm, but from sheer transfer of momentum. Watching Bajura closely, Ranma noted him getting more anxious as his assault continued, which supported one of his theories.

Magic, like everything, wasn't constant or eternal. What limited knowledge he'd taken from his time with Cologne taught him that. Potions had cures, curses had counters – mostly – spells had specific effects and could not be bent to take on others once cast and the energy devoted. Whatever Bajura was using, he needed to renew it, like he just did, and it likely needed to be done sooner based on how much damage his defense took.

Ranma negligently ducked out of an attempted grapple, sweeping Bajura's legs, working off the assumption that a hit to Achilles tendon in either leg would be pointless, so instead testing to see if somehow the brawler had even managed to stick himself to the floor. The too-low sweep hit and Koto proving his utter lack of training, lost his balance as his feet were forcefully disconnected from the mat. To the martial artist's surprise, the moment Bajura completely lost contact, the itch vanished.

"_Ground contact?_" Ranma pondered, as the brawler scrambled away like a kicked puppy, muttering under his breath. Again the pulse came, and this time, Ranma smirked. "Gotcha."

Bajura was damn near impossible to hurt, Ranma admitted easily, but he could be moved without any problem. That much he'd tested and proved earlier. Another wild haymaker was used in a modified counter-throw, when Ranma ducked under the swing, grabbing the brawlers forearm and using his own shoulder as leverage. A quick forward pull and rise, and again Bajura was off the floor. Ranma capitalized on the break in contact to slam his left elbow into Bajura's ribs until he heard a satisfying snap and howl of pain from the no-longer smirking blonde.

Ranma could hear but ignored the blaring commentary, as he then proceeded to dismantle the brawler. From his improvised throw position, he managed a few more shots to the other man's ribs, before finishing with a hard strike to the kidney. "See how you like pissing blood for the next week, you jackass," the muttered under his breath, before using the arm-hold he'd maintained to complete the throw, bouncing Bajura off the mat with the force of it.

The blonde tumbled haphazardly, coughing blood the entire way likely from a punctured lung. Smirking himself now, Ranma made a come-hither motion with his hand when the livid street fighter regained himself. This time, he could clearly make out at least part of the man's words, shouted over the noise and no longer masked by the roaring of the crowd. "_Gestalt Gegengewicht! Steinkörper!_"

"The hell," Ranma wondered, as the same sense of something locking into place from the blonde washed over him, with its familiar itch against his curse. "Some kind of activation mumbo-jumbo?" Flowing around a pair of clumsy, frankly embarrassing kicks, Ranma didn't capitalize on the easy sweep to break Koto's ground contact. This time, he wanted to test Bajura's little spell or whatever it was, against his own version of 'magic'.

Loosening his Gi somewhat, Ranma let his sleeve hang slightly, waiting for the chance he needed. Bajura wasn't long in providing it, his face screwed up in pain and fury, charging in like a bull with no guard whatsoever. Bracing his legs, Ranma lanced forward with an open palm strike that flared out his long-sleeved Gi around his arm. The flaring sleeve hid the truth of what he was doing, as he pummeled Bajura with a one-armed Chestnut Fist barrage. The brawler's charge was stopped dead as he hit the veritable wall of Ranma's technique. In the fraction of a second it took for Ranma to half-complete what he'd planned to push, by way of the Chestnut Fist, a different version of now-familiar magic pulse washed over him as it failed and shattered. Aborting the barrage so he didn't accidentally kill the other fighter – taking into consideration his lack of conditioning and already brutalized ribs – Ranma dropped into a low stance, satisfied with the match and his observations.

"Time to end this," he announced, to Bajura's widening eyes. An elbow strike, braced with his left hand against his right fist, forcefully dislocated Koto's knee, while that same right fist then snapped out afterward to reproduce the effect with Koto's other knee.

Ranma struck the falling fighter at the base of his skull to send him into unconsciousness, saving Bajura from the agony of his broken and abused ribs and knees, until medical help was rendered. He may not like magic, or people who used quick power-ups to avoid hard work, but was wasn't cruel or a sadist.

Raising his own arms, Ranma smirked at the crowd that was a mixed mass of cheering and disappointed cat-calls, as he was announced the winner.

"Man," he noted while noticing how awesome he looked on the huge monitors, "it feels _good_ to kick some ass."

–

"I think we're going to have some problems," Nabiki announced while Ranma spun through some cool-down katas in the lower levels of colosseum. The 'pit' as the martial artist had called it, consisted of the lockers, changing rooms, showers, team ready rooms, and a fairly large recreational area that had been converted into a warming-up area for the martial tournament. It was in this area of the pit that Nabiki watched as the currently-male martial prodigy blazed through a complex form, face locked into a contemplative cast.

It was that more than his lack of response that prompted her to speak out again. "Hey, buddy-boy, did you hear me?"

"Huh?" Halting in his kata, Ranma adjusted his balance and dropped easily into a more neutral posture. "Sorry," he replied distractedly, "was thinking about that last match."

Rolling her eyes at her companion's obliviousness, the middle Tendo regardless repeated her concern. "I said, I think we're going to have some issues with the local Yakuza."

Ranma considered that, as he began some less distracting stretches. "They were betting on that Bajura guy?"

"Local favorite," Nabiki explained sourly. "From what I managed to squeeze out of the people at the betting pools, he's something big. Apparently, he's been tearing through the fighting pits locally like a typhoon." The young woman eyed Ranma with a raised brow. "You're his first loss."

"Hey, what can I say?" Ranma smirked, bouncing on the balls of his feet lightly, before his good mood evaporated. "Still, that isn't good," he suddenly muttered, an abrupt halt coming to his motions. "Means they might have known. And I don't wanna think about that."

"Known what?" Nabiki asked sharply. "I need info here, Ranma."

Wrinkling his nose – a carry-over from his girl-side – the martial artist nodded. "Yeah, you do. Still, don't like it much." Seeing the impatient look on her face, Ranma paced slightly as he detailed what he knew. "You see how he took that first kick?"

Nabiki nodded, nibbling idly at her thumbnail. "Yeah, I nearly fell out of my seat. Even Ryoga, the brainless lug, at least _reacts_ when he gets hit."

"This kid wasn't even conditioned," Ranma continued, leaning into a back bend. He picked up his explanation as he rolled easily into a walkover. "No muscle, no tone. No way he could have done what he did out there on his own. He was using magic."

The middle Tendo was afraid this would be the reason, but still had a little hope she was wrong. "_Figures,_" she groused to herself. "_Can't even lose a bet I make against myself._" Outwardly, she remained mostly impassive, only showing mild concern. "What do you think the chances are that the Yaks know what he knew?"

Ranma considered that, and shook his head. "Slim to none. Otherwise we'd hear stories already about invincible Yaks running around." Continuing on that thread, Ranma went on, "Probably a local underboss, but no higher than a _shataigashira_. No way this guy'd be less than a superstar of some sort if it went up to a second-lieutenant, and anyone bigger than a local sub-boss would have the brains to figure out why the kid was so good, despite looking like Gosukugi."

Nabiki openly gawked at the young man. "And how long have you been so fluent in Yakuza organization?"

"C'mon Nabs, think about it," Ranma challenged, a slight grin on his face. "No way Pops did the crap he used to without stepping on a few toes. Got the crash course from him, while getting the hell out of Kobe one time."

The middle Tendo blanched. "That idiot panda crossed the Yamaguchi? And he's still alive _how?_"

"Hey, he may be an honorless jackass ruled by his gut, but Pops knows the Art, and how to save his own hide," Ranma countered sourly.

That brought up a frightening possibility to the calculating girl. "You... don't think he engaged you to any-"

"Yeah, we can stop thinking about that _right now_," Ranma interrupted, shaking his head so hard that his braid was making snapping noises in the air. "Ain't no way I'm thinking about being a little brother."

Nabiki's lip quirked slightly. "Maybe you'd have better chances as a little sister?"

"Don't even _joke_, Nabs."

Considering the risks and her own visibility during the matches, Nabiki came to an unpleasant realization that stalled her amusement. "Damn. I'm going to have to stay near ringside with you from here on out."

Ranma nodded, having come to much the same conclusion. "Time to put on your coaching hat?"

"I suppose so. It irks me that I won't be in the pools, since it's easier and faster to make wagers, but I don't want to take that risk, and offer a tempting lever against you. It'd offer too much of a opportunity to hold me ransom or something, the make you throw a late match when you're making a strong showing. They could clean up on the odds afterward."

Nodding again, the pigtailed youth slumped to the mat beside the middle Tendo sister. "How'd we do on the bets, anyway?"

"Good, but Bajura lost me some cash since his match took so long. Overall, I've gotten about a three-hundred percent return off the modeling bonuses. Would have been four with the odds on that punk. Damn magical bullshit."

"My thoughts exactly."

–

Day two of the tournament was winding down uneventfully, when Ranma had his first uncomfortable surprise that had nothing to do with his matches or Nabiki swearing about her phone-in bets not getting in on time. "_Must be desperate,_" the young man thought to himself as he eyed the man blocking his way to the pit. The Gi was worn and dirty, but not from travel-grit and sweat. It stank of cheap booze and fear. "_Didn't expect him here till tomorrow._"

He offered nothing but a narrowing of his eyes to the man before him, by way of respect. "Genma."

The heavily-built Saotome stiffened at Ranma's tone and display. "Boy, show some respect!"

"Earn it," the pigtailed youth countered, closing quickly and pushing the larger man aside before he could recoup his wits. Once he was passed, he slammed the double-doors shut in the other man's face, refusing to look back. Checking the halls, he noted the cameras and smirked to himself. Reaching into his pocket, Ranma found his own cell – kept in his duffel till after matches – and dialed Nabiki's number, then a few specific digits without making such action obvious.

Ranma ignored the hand on his shoulder, and the counter that he had to stomp down on the impulse to use, as he was tossed up against a cinderblock wall. "Boy, we need to talk," the older man rumbled, his expression cloudy with anger.

Smirking back at the man while he restrained the urge to reach out and slam him headfirst into the concrete floor, Ranma shrugged disinterestedly. "Talk then. Don't mean I gotta listen."

"Thanks to you and that damn traitor Nabiki, I'm ruined!" the cursed man snarled, shaking the slighter form of Ranma where he held him by his Gi. "Nodoka won't speak to me, and her clan's out for my head. The Kuonji's are getting close, and Daikoku's probably outside now."

"That don't concern me anymore," Ranma growled, kneeing the older man in the gut. Genma soaked the strike, then countered with a jab to Ranma's kidney that left the younger man staggered.

Scowling, Genma jostled Ranma again. "It's not too late to redeem our honor, Boy. I'm still your father, even if you chose the coward's route at that bitch Nabiki's convincing. Take my name again and marry Akane – you two were made for each other! I'll even help you save your winnings from this silly contest!"

Ranma couldn't help but laugh at that. "You idiot," he drawled, causing Genma to purple in anger. "Like I'd trust you with ten Yen. And just how am I supposed to marry her? Akane's _pregnant_, or hadn't you heard? Oh, that's right – restraining order from Old Man Tendo," Ranma recalled in a sing-song voice, only adding to the older man's anger. "Well, suppose I can let you know what's up. She's dating someone at her theater arts program, and they're planning on getting married soon, then a house after college." Smiling nastily, Ranma stared back into his father's glare. "So much for your retirement, huh? Not that there are Schools to join, after what you-"

He was silenced as a quick cross-body jab snapped his head around. "Be quiet, Boy. Happosai named you his heir – you're honorbound to reinstate your father – the man who trained and gave up ten years to make you what you are!"

"More like showed me what I'm supposed to avoid," Ranma replied, as he spat blood on Genma's already stained Gi.

"Stop this stupidity," Genma snarled, bunching up Ranma's Gi to shove him back against the wall again. "You've stalled for far too long, boy. It's time to own up to your responsibility and-"

Genma cut off with a startled yelp as Ranma reached up faster than the older man could react, spinning his hand into a thumb-lock that threatened to snap and crush bones. "Don't even joke about responsibility, you bastard."

"How dare you," the balding man choked out between gasps, as he tried to counter the slighter figure of his son with his free arm. Ranma simply tapped a few pressure points, making Genma's arm go numb from the shoulder down. "After all I sacrificed to get you where you are today!"

"Yeah, mostly you sacrificed _me_, jackass," Ranma sniped at his father's overly dramatic display. "My friendships, my honor, my relationship with mom, my future as anything but a pawn to earn you a fucking lawn-chair retirement, and damn near my manhood. So," leaning close dangerously, Ranma let his ki loose as he stared the old man down. "Lets hear another one, Genma. Tell me more about what you gave up, as I starved and bled over ten years, while you fattened up and whored around like the honorless prick you are."

Genma didn't get a chance to respond, as Ranma inverted their positions, slamming the older man face-first against the wall, his arm held in a hammer-lock behind him. "Listen up you – _listen!_" Ranma boomed, ki drenching his voice as Genma struggled. Flinching away from the thunderclap of his son's voice, Genma dazed himself from striking the wall with his temple. "Your bullshit about family honor don't mean anything anymore. Thanks to you, the Saotomes got none left. It was _luck_ mom's family would take her back, after she left your sorry ass, but that ain't my problem now!"

"Boy-" Genma cut off as his arm was nearly ripped out of its socket.

"Don't use that goddamn tone with me, you prick," Ranma threatened dangerously from behind him. Genma began to sweat with the intensity of his son's hatred burning like fire where he maintained his hold. "You started this crap with the engagements and making enemies outta everyone you ran into. Well guess what, jackass, it's time to own up to _your_ responsibilities! Time to do what _honor_ demands!" Kneeing the stocky man in the small of his back, Ranma pushed him to his knees, nearly bending Genma double in a forced bow.

It was at this time that Nabiki showed up in her suit, carrying a lighter and pack of cigarettes with some distaste. "Ugh. This was hell to get in a hurry, buddy-boy."

"Pay ya back later," Ranma grumbled as he worked to keep Genma subdued. "C'mon, can't hold him all day."

"The things I do," the girl muttered, before lighting one of the cigarettes with a cough. "Damn, should have found some menthols," she wheezed, handing the now-lit thing to Ranma as she sputtered.

Genma looked over his shoulder, eyes wide in panic. "Boy, what are you doing? Don't you da-Aarrrrghh!"

Grim-faced, Ranma released the hold on Genma when he felt the man's limbs go slack, the red welt on his lower back clearly showing what he'd done. Staring at the still-lit cigarette, Ranma tossed it away with a scowl. "You're a disgrace to the Art. You were banned from the Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū by its grandmaster, but still prac-"

Shivering weakly where he sat in shock, Genma shook his head in denial. "That's a lie, the master-"

"I got it on paper, you stupid jerk," Ranma snapped. "Nabs has video of you trouncing some small-time pits using the School after your ban for beer money. You'd think how people reacted after trying to join the Schools the way you did would teach you a damn lesson," the younger man snarled, the memory of breaking up Genma and a drugged Akane's wedding after Nodoka's divorce a stark, black stain in his mind. The beating Ranma had given his father after that had landed the man in traction for a month, and Soun began to finally see the error of how he'd gone about things, at the other man's prompting for so many years.

"You continue to dishonor the Art, after the master warned you. After I warned you. After Tendo renounced your friendship, and banned you from approaching his family. So, I took it away. You'll never abuse the Art again."

"Ultimate Weakness Moxibustion," Genma muttered in stark horror. "N-No! No, you can't do this to me! Boy! Reverse this, now!"

"Three, two..." Nabiki tapped her foot as she eyed her watch, then smiled brightly. "One!"

The pit doors slammed open as a small rush of security guards stomped into the down-sloping hallway. "Is this him?" One of the guards asked, to a suited man behind them.

Nodding, the man pulled out a folded wallet, showing his badge as Ranma and Nabiki gave the men room. "Genma Saotome, you're under arrest."

"Boy! Fix this, you can't let them do this to me! I'm your father!"

Ranma stared back at the man impassively, as he was easily pulled into cuffs and shackles. Genma's police profile was large and named him a threat, so the young man wasn't surprised at the way the men dealt with him, not that it mattered so much now. Taking a deep breath, he spun on his heel, to walk away beside a smirking Nabiki. Over his shoulder, his final words echoed down the hall. "I have no father."

–

"He did remarkably well, for his first fight against a mage."

"Hah, riiight. That wasn't a mage. That was an idiot who had one spell. Still, I guess this cut down on the cost for having hunters dispatched to deal with Koto. Suppose that's worth somethin' at the end of the day."

"That 'idiot's' "Stonebody" spell may be a rank amateur's excuse for true barriers, but remember, even you couldn't cast it and fight at the same time."

"Tch. Whatever. He's nothing compared to-"

"Don't forget, little pup, there are many kinds of prodigy in this world. Thinking your friend has a monopoly on the idea, or happens to be the only one would be foolish."

"...fine. So, do you want to approach him or should I? We need to move before Kansai. If they get their hooks in him, the Old Man'll be pissed."

"I'll take care of it. I have an in on this job you don't. Besides, I know you want to test yourself against him, but wait a bit. Ranma's never been the kind to turn down a fight, friendly or otherwise."

"So let me go in then, if it's no big de-"

"But you're already biased, thanks to your instincts. And if you jeopardize this and cost me my commission, I'll exorcise you myself. Am I understood?"

"...Nee-san is scary."

"So I've been told."

–

In one of the showers under the coliseum, Nabiki held a braided pigtail back as the owner retched into a sink, his face pale and ashen. "Jeez, Ranma. I didn't think this would hit you so hard. We had this plan in the works weeks ago."

"Don't matter," Ranma muttered, his eyes distant. "Man is still my dad, even if he is a bigger jackass than Taro. Almost couldn't bring myself to do that."

Sighing, Nabiki rubbed at the young man's back slowly, easing the tension out. "I know. I'm sorry it had to come to this, but... well. There was no other way to keep him from doing this same things over and over again. Only the fact that you're not on the Saotome register anymore kept him from selling you off seventeen times once Nodoka got fed up with him, you know. Not that he didn't try."

"_Seventeen?_" Ranma gaped at the older girl, before turning on the tap. Disgust clear in his tone, Ranma pounded a fist into the counter, rattling fixtures all along the wall. "Damn it, Pops..."

Hopping up onto the washbasin counter much like Ranma had a few nights previous, Nabiki kept up her slow ministrations on shoulder nearest her. "Yep. Since he could no longer draw on the allowance Nodoka's family gave her, and I cut off dad and him from the house accounts, he got desperate. It blew up in his face, but the fact remains, he never learns."

Expression darkening, Ranma washed his face hurriedly. The change was ignored by both, as hair lightened to red, and the muscular frame melted away to its lithe, toned counterpart. "Then there was that crap with Akane..."

"I know dad doped her up for that wedding I called a hit on between the two of you," Nabiki grumbled, getting a terse nod in return. "That's reason one I did it. No sister of mine is getting married like that. I'll kill the next person that tries it, and he knows it now."

"I damn near killed Pops when he tried it," Ranma recalled, blue eyes stormy in the mirror. "I can't believe him sometimes. This 'join the Schools!' bullshit just makes no damn sense. Akane was never up to the level to teach, and no offense, but Tendo never diversified his side of the Art into anything of note.

"I know why," Ranma quickly added, seeing Nabiki's frown. "He had you guys. He wanted to be a father, which I get. I ain't calling him on that."

Nabiki loosed a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Well, since were being candid, dad really never did much of anything after mom died," she allowed, looking away. "He just retreated. Then when Genma showed up, he turned into a damn yes-man to that fat bastard's stupid schemes. He didn't even raise a hand or word about Happosai molesting us in our own home."

"Yeah, which lead to me challenging him for my mastery," Ranma recalled with a weary sigh. She didn't like remembering this period in her life, but it was what lead her here. "He gave it, but damn, what a nightmare. Had to revise the Senkens just to use an unsealed version, and that got me all kinds of hell from Po... _Genma,_" she quietly recalled, stumbling over the last few words painfully.

"We appreciated it," Nabiki reminded the currently-redhead. "No one else has stood up for us so much."

"Just glad Old Man Tendo woke up after that," Ranma muttered, smiling slightly. "Seeing how everything was going to hell."

The middle Tendo barked a laugh. "That was more due to Kasumi reaching her limit and taking a page from your book one day when you two were out. She woke him up by throwing him into the koi pond, then beat him into seeing things her way."

Ranma stared back at Nabiki, wide-eyed. "When did – _Kasumi?_ No shit?" Seeing the other girl nod, Ranma loosed a low whistle. "You get it on tape?"

Nabiki laughed – honestly this time – a welcome change from their maudlin tone up to that point. "Yeah, I'll show you when we get home. Big sis wanted a copy too."

As Ranma turned off the tap, the two girls were startled when the sound of a group of people entering the main shower room reached them, reminding them that they'd taken refuge in the men's lockers. "Damn," Nabiki grumbled quietly, shaking her head at their timing. "You think you can sneak us out?"

"Either that or we get to start a few nosebleeds," the redhead whispered back, seeing the glint in Nabiki's eye. "Nosebleed it is. I could use a laugh, right about now."

Reaching under her shirt, Nabiki writhed out of her bra, then stuffed it in a pocket. She undid the first two buttons of her shirt while opening her jacket, before noting Ranma's glazed look. With a smirk, she tilted the redhead's chin up, closing her mouth. "See something you like?"

Shaking her head hard, Ranma coughed into a small fist. "Er, that is... well. You're not hard to look at..."

Nabiki leaned forward and planted a kiss on the flustered girl's forehead. "You're too easy to tease. Your turn," she grinned playfully, mussing up the redhead's hair before loosening her Gi top slightly. Eying the results, she got a wicked gleam in her eye that Ranma didn't like.

"Er, Nabs what are yo-Oooh..." Ranma slapped a hand over her traitorous mouth as Nabiki released her not-quite gentle hold on the rather sensitive, and now quite obvious, points on her anatomy. The damage was done however, as all noise outside the stall stopped.

As Nabiki mussed her own hair for effect, Ranma pouted at her, only making the display more impressive. "I hate you so much sometimes."

"Noted," Nabiki replied airily as she tallied her point, before throwing open the stall door with a petulant, perky, and pouting redhead under the arm thrown across said girl's shoulder.

With a wide, lecherous grin, she guided the two of them around and passed the stunned mob of district competitors. "'Scuse us, boys. Seems we got the wrong side. See you 'round," she offered, while Ranma tried to hide her blush and meet no one's eye as she scurried by.

Once outside the lockers, the two clapped hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter as they heard the collective stumble and groan as the men inside shook themselves out of their stupor. "God, that never gets old," Nabiki wheezed as Ranma retied her Gi, chuckling.

"Definitely. Still, you're terrible," Ranma opined with a grin, looping her arm through the taller girl's own as she guided them out of the pit. "Which is why you're treating me to dinner."

"Hey, how's that work?"

Ranma put a finger to her chin, mocking a thoughtful look as the two walked. "Well, next time you can be the one looking like you just had ice dumped down your shirt then."

The middle Tendo favored the petite girl an a arch stare. "You don't have the ner-Yeow!"

"What was that, Nabs?" the redhead asked innocently as she lead the pair on, her blue eyes shining as Nabiki rubbed her abused nipple, more out of surprise than pain. "I couldn't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am."

It was at that point that Nabiki realized she was rubbing her braless breast, while being leaned on by a smiling redhead, in the middle of the coliseum food court lobby entrance. Surreptitiously, she noted they were being stared at by no less than half the people there, with that percent climbing as people pointed them out. Looking down at her companion slowly with a lidded gaze, she noted Ranma tallying her point. "You will pay for this, Ranma."

"Oh, but wasn't dinner on you?"

Nabiki decided to make the best of things, rather than possibly play into Ranma's plans. It was just too hard to predict the little spitfire when she was being playful, these days. "Well, then, since it's a date, lead on, _Ran-chan_."

Sputtering slightly, Ranma stalled then giggled cutely, looking up at her adoringly. "Sure thing, _Biki-chan!_"

Eye twitching as she was dragged along behind the exuberant redhead, Nabiki recalled that this was the _guy_ that could play a room like a fiddle, scam ice cream shops out of stock, and who had repeatedly ground any competition against his female side to dust in whatever venue he – _she_ – got roped into. "Some days it doesn't pay to get out of bed," she muttered in a stage whisper.

"Well, next time we can just sleep in all day," Ranma chirped none-too-subtly, much to Nabiki's growing horror. The effect was immediate, causing a domino effect as the epicenter of her exclamation expanded, much like the shockwave of an exploding bomb. Only this time, the payload was nosebleeds, gawking parents, and dumbly staring adolescents.

Palming her face, Nabiki resigned herself to a losing half her day's profits to Ranma's stomach, though she let her expression lighten once she saw the real happiness on the redhead's face when she pushed an equally large – and on the house – sundae her way.

–

Day three of the tournament dawned, and Ranma blinked awake at the ceiling, as she tried to recall precisely where she was and why all she could smell was Nabiki. Trying to stretch, she noted the weight on her arm, and looked down at a mop of brown hair, set above an uncommonly peaceful face. Relaxing from the tension she'd woken to, Ranma let her head drift back down, until she nearly jumped out of her skin when the older girl's hand twitched.

Eyes wide, Ranma gulped and removed the appendage in question from between her thighs, recalling precisely why she tended to sleep in flannels around Nabiki, rather than just underwear. She was a grabby sleeper, and her hands gravitated toward warmth. Once they were situated in a less scandalous position, the currently-redhead shifted and got comfortable again, ignoring for the moment the slight empty tension settled low in her stomach. Peering down at her bedmate for the last few days, she heaved a slight, rueful sigh. Best wake her up, before it happened again.

"Nabs," she muttered, shifting that shoulder slightly. A second summon was similarly ignored, until Ranma moved so the two were more or less facing one another.

Reaching up, Ranma shook the other girl gently, until her eyes fluttered open. "Hey, time to wake up, sleeping beauty."

Nabiki stared at her, uncomprehending for a moment. To Ranma's shock, the brunette leaned forward and met her lips in a chaste kiss, before rolling back over to mutter something about depositing a hundred Yen, then trying again.

Blinking in a combination of stunned disbelief and confusion, Ranma sat there with a hand on her lips, unseeing for a long minute. When she finally managed to get her mind wrapped around what happened, the redhead dismissed it as a dreaming mistake, and noted she was now free to get up. Ranma wasted no time, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Bolting out of bed and into the bathroom, she started the small, if perfectly acceptable furo, patently ignoring the mild arousal she'd awakened to. Such things happened enough for her to begin wondering about Nabiki's leanings in regard to the martial artist, not that she minded that sort of thing but...

Shaking her head hard, Ranma unbound her braid, dismissing such thoughts. She and Nabiki were friends and business partners – and that was it. The middle Tendo had made it quite clear she wasn't looking for a romantic relationship once they started working together, and Ranma had wholeheartedly agreed. Now, it really wasn't an option. Nerima had nearly put her off relationships completely, with the insanity it favored, and the added complication of her girl-side just made things worse. She was still a guy upstairs, and with people like Kuno hounding her, the idea of being physical with another guy never got a chance to take hold, or appealed.

Ranma wasn't stupid in that regard however. She had a girl's body, a girl's hormones, and though her mind – that part of her that didn't change – was still firmly labeled 'Guy!', the rest of her, including her brain, was not. That scared her more than she ever let on, and also added to her discomfort when it came to her cursed form. If she started liking things in this form, then would that mean she'd one day start wanting to do... _things_, with a guy? Was her mind impervious to the body that it housed, and those impulses?

Maybe, Ranma admitted to herself where no one else could hear. Maybe not.

That lead her to the obvious option of trying to focus such ideas on girls... but there were problems with that too. Ranma was aware of the different types of sexuality in the world – really, it was impossible not to, with the curse she had – and though she did find a number of the fiancees attractive as a girl, the attention wasn't reciprocated. Akane had been jealous, Shampoo oblivious, and Ukyo ambivalent. Kodachi and her murderous bend need not even be mentioned. That presented a problem for Ranma, as how could these people claim to honestly love _her_, the mind that made her 'Ranma', when they only really meant it for the male side? So far, none of the cures had worked, and with Jusekyo a mess, and the lack of a real option from the Joketsuzoku, Ranma began to think there may not be one. Oh, she hoped there was one, but did she expect it now? "Really, if there'd been one, Cologne would have fixed Shampoo's c-c-c... furry-demon-from-hell curse, or something. She isn't dumb enough to think that'd ever work."

The conclusion was obvious, to Ranma. It that meant that unless there was a cure somewhere, she'd only be able to be with a girl that also didn't mind that sometimes she was a girl too. Ranma wasn't going to put up with a romance that was only there in the absence of cold water, after all, and with how many times her curse got locked, there was a real risk of it happening again.

Ranma bit her lip as she slid off her sleepwear, shivering as the cold air replaced warm cloth. That was the biggest problem with the curse, as far as Ranma figured anymore. The girl-side was sensitive, in more places and more consistently than her birth form. A light touch on the back of her neck as a guy was noted and dismissed – as a girl, it sent shivers down her spine that tightened her nipples and made her sex clench. Which, on its own, usually made the cursed martial artist dismiss all current issues and run for hot water, to hell with the consequences. Lately, however, with all the time she'd spent as a girl and with company as accepting of it as Nabiki, her aversion to that form's reactions had dimmed. Hell, she could flirt and joke about it with the middle Tendo and didn't mind the turnabout when it came. Ranma just wished her body-reactions weren't so damn strong and persistent. Nabiki could shrug those things off, having been acclimatized to them – she however, could not.

Staring into a mirror, Ranma took in her form, blushing slightly. She was attractive in all the normal ways, unless you liked tall girls, which apparently she was fated never to be. Noting that she was somewhat brutally savaging her lip, the redhead heaved a sigh and tried to push her errant thoughts aside. "Damn wandering hands," she muttered, shivering again as the cold kissed the slight dampness the lack of underwear had left her to deal with on her own. Impulse had her swearing again, as she instinctively shielded herself with a hand, the pressure sending pleasant shocks through her body. The irony was not lost on the redhead, as she sighed in defeat.

"I'm just doing this to get used to it," she muttered, moving to the furo and cutting the water temperature down to a point that wasn't uncomfortable, but still wouldn't reverse the curse. Locking the bathroom door, the redhead swept her eyes around the room furtively, until her gaze landed on the brush she usually used after bathing, to keep her hair from knotting and getting fouled.

With a slightly shaking hand, she snatched it up, blushing nearly the shade of her hair as she considered the possible... _uses_ for the thing. Or more specifically, its handle. "Just... to get used to it," she repeated again, moving to slip into the lukewarm bath. Shortly, she forgot her protests, as she bit down on a rolled up washcloth to muffle the noises she was making, so as not to wake Nabiki.

–

Smiling quietly, Nabiki nodded to herself and slipped back into bed. "About time she loosened up some. Even I know it is can't be healthy to deny yourself that much."

Sighing as she stretched, the middle Tendo relaxed into her own form of stress relief. It wasn't easy pushing someone's buttons so subtly they didn't suspect you, without getting worked up as well. "Good thing she's new at this," the mercenary girl mused, "figure I have about half an hour to burn."

–

"I guess I shouldn't have expected much, but... for that Koto guy to be the most interesting match?" Ranma sighed as he looked at the trophy in his hand. "That kinda makes me sad, y'know?"

Nabiki carefully tucked 'Ranko's' trophy into the duffel and began cleaning her locker while Ranma paced around the practice room. "Well, you knew it would be like this, really. This was a stadium-type martial arts event. Martial arts takeout, flower arranging, calligraphy – things like that won't work so well in this place."

"I suppose, but-"

"Honestly, a lot of your more interesting styles, attacks, and former matches were based off those weird disciplines," Nabiki reminded him. "This was about as normal as things get. So don't worry about it, if things seemed too easy. From what you've described and I've seen, there isn't much that could have been a challenge to you from this place."

Ranma considered that sourly. In all truth he felt like he'd been bullying people at the tournament rather than indulging in the Art. It was clear that no one else that had registered had his kind of control, skill, power, and training, even before the fights began. Though he was still learning how to refine and focus it, he ki-sense had barely been pinged by the people present, meaning very few had learned how to reinforce their bodies with it, or use it in techniques. He could understand that there wouldn't be much in the way of challenging opponents in a 'normal' martial tournament, but there was something else that began nagging at him, thanks to these thoughts. "Hey, Nabs...?"

Having collected and packed 'Ranko's' things in her absence, the middle Tendo stood nearby, looking nearly as pensive. "Yeah?"

"Have I hit my ceiling? Is this... have I seen all there is to see?"

It was a question Nabiki knew was coming, but regardless dreaded hearing. She hadn't thought to hear it for a long time yet, despite knowing, and wondered suddenly if the whole tournament thing had been more hindrance than help. The last thing either of them needed was Ranma working himself into a mid-life crisis, over his Art. "I don't know," she offered hesitantly. "Maybe. There are other things out there, still," Nabiki reminded quietly. "That I'm pretty much sure of. Will it matter? Face it, Ranma, Saffron... that was big. But it was also dangerous. Do you want to pass this ceiling, if it means facing someone like that again?"

"I don't want my friends involved," Ranma replied immediately, though there was a shadow obscuring his features. "But I don't know if I can handle this being... it. An end to the Art."

Nabiki cocked her head to the side, frowning. "Why would it be the end? I don't understand that."

Laughing quietly, Ranma zipped up his own duffel. "I guess there are those people who've taken their Art as far as it can go. Setting up shop in temples, maybe teaching at a dojo. I could go out, and teach fast-food martial arts, yeah?" The young man snorted. "Like all those downtown shops. Fast, easy to consume little bits of form, good enough for the masses. Isn't that what Pops wanted?"

"But not you."

"But not me," Ranma agreed. "Teaching... I don't know if I can do it. I mean, what kinda role models have I got for the Art? Pops? Cologne? Happosai? Sure, I'm pretty certain I can get anyone else that's willing to put up with the training up to my level. They just gotta deal with how I got here. Push till you bleed and can't think right, and all that's left is instinct and knowing that if you stop, if you hesitate, it'll only be worse. Everyone flips out over the Cat-fist, but honestly? It was the worst thing, sure – but not by much.

"Put everything important on the line; friends, family, sense of self, your life. The Joketsuzoku got great motivational methods.

"Maybe go with the old lech's way. Everything is up for grabs, as long as you can get away with it. Happosai's the poster boy for 'Might makes right'. Unless you can stop the old bastard, he'll just keep on doing whatever he likes, and ancestors forbid you're a chick when he targets you."

Scrubbing at the back of his neck, Ranma sighed. "I know what not to do, because honestly I'd feel awful trying to teach like that. But can I teach _without_ it? That's the question, I guess."

"On the other hand," Ranma went on, the tension lessening in his posture somewhat, "there's just me. Maybe it's selfish, but I want more. I want to see, learn, develop more of the Art. I don't feel like I'm finished yet. Hell, Nabs, I don't know if I ever will. That's what Pops... _Genma_ messed up the most on. He didn't give me a love for teaching – he gave me a love for learning."

Nabiki was a bit stunned with the depth of thought Ranma had put into this. Not because she thought he wasn't up to the process, but because this was the first hint she'd had of it, in the years she'd known him. "...would you have ever been happy teaching at the dojo?"

Ranma shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. Life's a big thing. I can't sit back and say 'hell, no' when I never gave it a shot. Maybe me and Akane would have worked out, but I don't see it. I ain't a masochist, no matter what anyone thinks. Maybe I'm a bit rough, maybe I push people's buttons too much, but it's just how I am. Does that mean I like it when someone ignores me, thinks the worst of me constantly, or resorts to violence just because she's not getting her way?"

"Hey, Akane-"

"Is a spoiled brat with a princess complex, who got pandered to by your dad, and never got a real dose of reality till we showed up," Ranma countered before Nabiki could defend her younger sister. "Even Kasumi called her a violent maniac that first day, and she was being nice about it."

She wanted to defend her sister, but even Nabiki had issues with Akane's temper and tantrums at times. Not to mention the few instances of her losing control, without even understanding that there were consequences to hurting people the way she did. What she managed, sounded weak even in her own ears, "It wasn't all her fault."

Ranma nodded, looping his bag over his shoulder as he moved to the room's exit. "Never said it was. But think about it. I could've been a lot worse. Could have lashed right back, or been the one to call her on being a pervert, when that wasn't even on my mind – but she had to have something going on upstairs to make the call, y'know?" Nabiki blinked at that small insight, laughing quietly. "I could have been a lot worse about it all. Reason I'm not? Sense of decency. Something she's lacking."

"My, my. What a harsh bit of character deconstruction."

Ranma stalled in his forward motion, scanning for the source of the new voice. Motioning Nabiki back, he tossed his duffel bag aside, adopting a wary posture. "Yeah well, you had to be there I guess," the martial artist quipped, listening for the voice to come again so he could get a read on where the speaker was. When it wasn't apparent, he tried to draw them out. "Don't mean much now, she's changed a lot. Still a good friend."

He didn't have to bother long in his search. With a sharp clang and a few forcefully unseated screws, the eavesdropper to their candid conversation appeared, lithely tumbling from an overhead air duct to land with easy grace before them. "Well, If that's so, I can only imagine how you talk about your enemies."

"Mostly I just call them names and laugh about the last time I sent off to go lick their wounds," Ranma replied, sizing up the new figure. Clad wholly in black, at first glance he was tempted to think 'professional ninja' in the same way one thinks of scary government agents as 'professional tough guys'. A moment's more attention dismissed that, and left Ranma wondering who he'd pissed off now, to warrant a career assassin.

Heavy boots, black sound-damping fatigues, a combat knife strapped to a thigh, at least four pistols of various sizes in hip and under-arm harnesses, a flak jacket in the same color with tactical gloves, under what looked like a combat-issue military vest, all topped with balaclava that had the mouth and nose – usually exposed – covered by a kind of muffling, vented mask. Even the figures eyes were hidden, behind a pair of amber goggles. Ranma took this in, in the span of time that passed between the figure landing and standing to full height – which seemed just at or a little over six feet.

Ranma stopped worrying about who sent the figure or why, when they pulled two of the pistols and brought them to bear on him. Backpedaling for dodging room, the young man flinched when the first pistol fired with a muffled 'fwump', at his feet. The lack of heavy report and the uncharacteristic impact sound caused him to check the assassin's target, and what he saw confused him greatly.

"Airsoft guns," the figure explained casually at seeing Ranma staring at the pellet resting in the depression it made in the mat. "Currently loaded with large caliber plastic pellets."

Bemused, Ranma looked back up at the figure, who's image totally clashed with this last tidbit of information. "So... Yeah, you know. I really got nothing, here. Nabs?"

"What the fuck!"

Ranma looked back to the new figure with a nod. "Yeah, that kinda sums it up pretty well, actually."

"I mean, you come out of the ceiling," Nabiki ranted, getting a good head of steam going. "You come _out of the ceiling_, in IRA formal wear, with toy guns? What the–

_'Fwump!'_

"Yeow!"

"Can we not shoot the noncombatant please?"

The figure considered Ranma's request, and nodded. "Sure. But the toy gun comment was asking for it."

"Putting aside how fucking surreal this is," Ranma grumbled, "what exactly are you here for?"

"A few things," the disproved assassin replied easily. "First, a warning."

"You could have warned me those sting," the middle Tendo snarled, rubbing at her shoulder with a grumpy expression.

Coughing into a fist, the gunman continued, "As I was saying, a warning. Your bout with Koto didn't go unnoticed, nor was his loss appreciated. As it turns out, a certain Yakuza sub-boss spent a lot of capital getting that particular loose cannon into the tournament, to show him off."

Cursing roundly, Nabiki stomped over to a bench to sit. "So, how bad?"

"_Shateigashira_ Moriko of the Aizukotetsu-kai was invited, to observe," the figure answered, resulting in a very pale, very nervous Tendo daughter. That state only worsened with the masked speaker's next words. "He in turn, invited a few prominent figures form the Yamaguchi-gumi, as a sort of alliance outing. To say they weren't very impressed with Koto would be an understatement."

"Alright," Ranma muttered, as Nabiki began quietly ranting about how she didn't want to die a virgin, before turning green as some other, worse thought hit her. "So, the Yaks are targeting us. I kinda expected that, honestly."

"Then, at least my warning will do you some good. I imagine someone of your capabilities to be able to handle a few dozen Yakuza enforcers without much problem."

Nabiki barked a quiet laugh. "Yeah, sure. No problem," she muttered. "Buddy-boy here's just never had to dodge bullets before."

If Ranma didn't know better, he could has sworn the figure before him smiled at that little proclamation. "Oh? Well, no time to practice like the present, then."

"Hey, wha- Shit!" Leaning hard to the side, Ranma avoided the shot aimed for his center of mass, only to get a stinging reminder his opponent had two guns, when the second shot hit him in the thigh. "Tch! Alright, if that's how you want it."

"Not really, but you take what you can get," the gunman replied airily, not bothering to disengage when Ranma closed in to bring him face-to-face with them. "There's something you should know, first."

Ranma deflected an arm angling to get a bead on him with a forearm push, then spun to the gunman's side as the second gun came up inside his guard. The air displacement from the shot that missed him ruffled his bangs. His attempt to disarm the first gun with a wrist hold was countered, as the gun was twirled hard around a finger so that the handle cracked against his own wrist. Grunting in annoyance, the martial artist started a circular prowl around the masked figure, utilizing integrated tactics of Baguazhang to keep him at their back. This would have been fine, had they not started shooting at him from over their shoulder or around their own sides. "Alright, what should I know?"

"I'm just as good with CQC as with my guns." Words were mated with action, when the gunman stomped back with a foot, pinning Ranma's own, before using that momentary lock to reengage face to face.

Ranma was immediately focused on deflecting and dodging the guns again, as they moved faster and more directly through his guard. The problem he found, while spinning down into a sweep that let a shot pass through where his head had been moments prior, was that while the gunman used weak Aikido-based redirections to lock him up and throw off his dodging, they didn't need close contact to do damage. He was constantly watching the barrels and the gunman's hands to calculate where and when shots would come, basing his motions around the tensing in the other fighter's fingers.

He was also doing a lot more work than the gunman. Where they only needed to aim and pull the trigger to score a hit, he had to devote full muscle groups and balance to his own attacks. The bias was clear, in power spent in opposition to result. Still, Ranma preferred his own methods. He had to admit, however, that his opponent had talent. This wasn't some simple thug's 'point click kill' mentality regarding firearms, which he found so abhorrent.

Rolling through the gunman's guard, Ranma came up at their back, landing a hard elbow to the side... and blinked. Backpedaling for a moment, he dodged two intersecting paths by simply jumping over them, then rebounding off the ceiling in an accelerated dive. Sacrificing the easy target in lieu of avoiding the subsequent face-booting that would follow, the gunman ducked into a low stance that let Ranma pass overhead, while bringing both pistols to bear. Ranma landed in a roll, coming up some few feet away, to reengage with a zig-zag charge.

"Something weird about that hit earlier," Ranma mused to himself, devoting his attention to the problem while letting his body work on instinct for a fraction of a moment. "Was like I hit a padded target. Plus, I actually hit them, unlike that jackass Koto. There was give, but no... contact!" Figuring out what had felt wrong, Ranma dropped back into the fight completely, as the gunman forwent firing on him during his charge, instead taking up a defensive posture that covered their frontal zone easily from any angle.

Back in close quarters, Ranma broke down the gunman's form, frowning at what he saw while working on the conundrum of the odd hit earlier. They were good – very good. The weapons were a natural part of their motion, and they didn't hesitate to fire when an opening was given. Every part of the weapon was used, too, much like he was taught to use his own body. The slide doubled as a knife-hand for when he was too close to bring the barrel to bear, often in strikes at the temple or jaw, meant to stagger an opponent. Twice, he'd taken numbing hits from the grips of the guns, when trying to disarm or get inside for a few clear hits. And, he got easily as good as he gave, knowing what few contacts were made, counted. Already the gunman was favoring their left arm, and didn't move as quick in rotating to bring their weapons to bear, after a few hits to the gut.

While doing this, his mind's eye worked on the secondary issue. If the contact was muted or padded, that meant their figure was off... but how the hell did that work? That would mean they had a much thinner waist than- "Erwha," he muttered, purposefully taking a hit to the off shoulder, to close in so that he could get a hand on the gunman's tactical vest.

Misjudging the distance and his opponent's reaction, Ranma instead got a handful of very apparent breast, previously obscured under a lot of body armor. To the martial artist's surprise, the gunman voiced a husky giggle while their arms drifted into a neutral position. "My, how forward of you. And to think, we haven't seen each other in years. You could at least buy me dinner first, Ran."

Much like a certain okonomiyaki chef he'd forgotten about, thanks to time and the Cat-fist training soon after their parting, the particular diminutive version of his given name – minus the chan – jostled memories loose from the young man's head. Somewhat hesitantly, he reached up and pulled the vented mask down around the figure's neck, as they stood silently, patiently by.

Next, the balaclava was pulled back, exposing an clearly feminine face framed with a few displaced bangs, that had escaped the now-exposed ponytail that was tucked under the woman's headgear. Glancing up from her slight grin, Ranma carefully moved the goggles up to the woman's forehead, staring directly back into the gaze resting on him, from amused, amber eyes.

Tanned skin, black hair, gold-amber eyes... Ranma swallowed thickly. "...Mana?"

Grin turning into a full smile, the woman nodded once. "You do remember. It's been a while, Ran. Glad to see you got out of there in one piece."

"Damn, I didn't think you did. I wanted to come back but Pops-"

"We figured as much," the woman interrupted, shrugging the point away as she stepped back and removed her headgear. The mask and balaclava were put into a pouch, while the goggles resettled more comfortably above her bangs. "Once the fighting picked up, we lost track of you. Most of us assumed the worst, but I'd always hoped otherwise.

"Thanks to our orders, there was no way we could hang around, though," the young woman stated with a hint of bitterness, which was washed quickly away. "It's good to see you again, though. Who's your friend, here? Noticed the change in last name – marry into a respectable family to get away from that ass?"

Looking to Nabiki, Ranma grinned at the middle Tendo's raised brow. "Nah, not married. Adopted sister, business partner, perpetual pain in the ass. Mana, this is Nabiki Tendo. Nabs, this is a friend I made back in China, Mana."

Having seen Ranma react in different ways to different women, it was clear the young man didn't think of Mana as a potential fiancee threat, however, the glint in the other woman's eyes, as well as her reactions sent conflicting messages. She seemed friendly, but there was something else... Taking that into consideration, Nabiki adopted her normal business mien; slight smirk, direct, aggressive posture, head held high. Time to gather intel. "Nice to meet you, Mana. No last name?"

Ranma, realizing his error, made to cover it up, but was beaten by a vaguely amused Mana. "Tatsumiya, now. Much like Ranma, I found a good family to take me in. And no, no previous last name. I was a war orphan."

Nabiki blinked, then nodded in sympathy. "I see. I hope you're as happy with them, as Ranma is with us."

"They're kind, and understand me," Mana allowed vaguely. "I'm happy to see Ranma's ditched that glorified con-man that called himself his father. We would have... relieved him of that burden, but he seemed to want to handle things on his own."

Looking to the martial artist, Nabiki raised a brow, while mouthing 'relieved?' with a speculative air. Laughing nervously, Ranma gestured with his hands, warding the question off, though Mana seemed inclined to ignore him. "You see, I first met Ran here, while moving to meet up with some of my companions, after a contract at sea. We pretty much made landfall at the same time. That night, we had an... unexpected visitor."

"Genma tried to steal your food," Nabiki stated blandly, fairly sure of her assumption. While that was being said, she quickly processed the woman's words, dress, and actions. Whoever Mana was, she had the air of military about her, and was unabashed about showing it. In fact, she wasn't making any attempt to gloss over her similarity to a soldier or mercenary, seeming completely comfortable with it, honestly. Considering the woman's confident air and skill, Nabiki could understand why – at least before the tricky legal matters reared their head. The question became, then, which military? She spoke nearly inflectionless Japanese despite her clearly foreign heritage. No hints there.

While those gears were spinning, Mana nodded to Nabiki's guess. "He managed to pocket a week's worth of rations, before my field commander tagged him with stun-gun. We weren't going to kill someone over food, so we tied him up, and waited for him to wake up. Imagine our surprise when Ran here," she gestured to a wincing Ranma, "came barreling into our camp, fists flying, screaming about killing his dad."

"I'd never seen a tazer before," Ranma added in his defense. "Though, I almost tried to get one myself, seeing how easy it was to put the old man down with one."

Nabiki nodded, having considered much the same thing for a few people, honestly. She decided to put aside some of her more probing queries for later, and voiced what she figured was the question of the day. "So, did he swindle, con, sell, or otherwise manage to engage you to buddy-boy here?"

Chuckling, Mana eyed a suddenly red-faced young man with a sly grin. "No, but not for trying. Well, in the beginning anyway."

"Mana..."

"Let me tell it my way, and then you can say your side," the tall woman offered with a barely perceptible grin. "Your sister here asked after all. Way it turned out, once Ran here explained the old man's M.O., we kind of took the two in for a while. They were a real mess after swimming to China."

"Mind if I ask who this 'we' you keep mentioning is?" Nabiki asked, causing the other woman to pause.

"Mm, no I don't mind," the woman replied easily. "Kanbanurae, a PMC," she stated shortly, offering no other elaborations. Meeting Nabiki's eyes, she let her smile grow slightly. "And that is 'we'," she offered conclusively, clearly stating that was the end of that.

"As for the Saotomes, they traveled with us for about a week, as we made for our destination. I could tell that Ran's father had some plan, since he kept nosing around, asking about fighting styles and such. There were only two people in Kanbanurae with anything like what he was looking for, however. One was my... mentor at the time, the other being me.

"Initially he asked that the my mentor train Ran," Mana chuckled quietly, noting Ranma's sour expression. "Of course, once he pointed out a few things, Genma backed off. Hard."

Nabiki had a suspicion, but wanted to be clear, regardless. "What things?"

Mana favored her with a flat, level gaze. "We were soldiers, not martial artists. Genma decided pretty quick that wasn't what he wanted. Not that it mattered much."

Mana shrugged, turning to move a few steps, sweeping her eyes around the room while recalling the memory. "I think it was the day, maybe two, after that. While on the road to our rendezvous, we were ambushed by a Korean PMC, and fighting broke out. During the firefight, I lost track of Ran, and once we started cleaning up it was clear the Saotomes left the fight early on, or something went really wrong. And that was the last I saw of him or his father." Turning so she could smirk over her shoulder, the taller woman shrugged. "So, no. Genma didn't get around to make an offer for little Ran here, while they were with us."

Ranma snorted at that. "He was thinking hard about it, though, till Kousuke and he had their little talk. And stop calling me little, damn it. I'm older than you are."

"And still shorter."

"Grr..."

For her part, Nabiki was feeling drastically uncomfortable at the level of familiarity Ranma was showing to someone who basically just admitted to being a member of a for-hire private army, and career soldier. Clearly, that kind of hardened mindset and outlook were not what Genma had in mind, training up a scapegoat for all his indiscretions. After all, it could only blow up in his face, if Ranma grew up into the kind of person that treated enemies and threats as problems with a final solution, rather than contests and matches that could be continued later. For all the man's bluster, he was at heart a coward. A Ranma with the skills he wanted, but that had been blooded early on, wouldn't have let him get away with so much. "I guess I can see why Genma didn't want his meal-ticket getting different ideas than his own," she finally allowed, still reeling somewhat at the kind of people that continued to show up in Ranma's life.

"Guns, death, a soldier's life," Mana counted off on her fingers. "He mimed a healthy dose of disdain for us, but it was all a cover for fear. That, and we could tell what kind of person he was, and weren't falling for his games. You learn to pick out con-men easy, when getting taken by one means you're likely to get killed."

Nabiki winced. "I would imagine so..."

Mana resettled her guns in their holsters with a shrug. "Genma didn't respect us, despite our experience and skill. Perhaps it had to do with how we handle ourselves, or that most of us had no hesitation to kill when needed. I can see how that kind of thing would disrupt his plans for Ranma's training, depending on how he wanted it to go."

"Pops didn't want me to be that kind of martial artist," Ranma stated with some certainty. "He didn't have to say anything, and I didn't need for him to. All his lessons and the things he taught me said as much. I guess it made sense, considering."

Somewhat surprised at Ranma's insight, Nabiki raised a brow at that. "How so?"

Ranma grinned. "Think about it. We settle, and put down roots at the dojo. Pops pushes me to get married, knowing damn well I'm not ready yet. He hopes that Akane's a good martial artist, but either way – no problem. If she is, she'll fight me. If she's not, I have to protect her from the people that'll run at us, once they figure out where we are.

"It was all about training," the young man concluded with a barked laugh. "Make enemies, pull in a bunch of contending parties. Make a big mess, and then dump it on me to clean up. Maybe it wasn't about your Art, Mana. Maybe it was more than someone like you thrown in the mix would upset the cart he'd balanced on the top of a mountain."

"Could be," the woman replied with a disinterested air. "Either way, apparently all that is over with, and I can't say I feel bad for his loss. Ah, right." Reaching into a pocket, Mana came up with a small, matte metal tin. "I came to give you something as well."

Crossing to stand before the slightly shorter young man, she held out a business card. "My employer would like to speak with you, about options. He heard through the grapevine that you were interested in attending Tokyo University. He'd like to offer you the option of Mahora, if you'd consider it."

While Ranma was curiously inspecting the card, Nabiki was standing slack-jawed and stunned. Eventually, she got her wits about her, though it took some effort. "M-Mahora? You want Ranma at Mahora?"

"I wouldn't mind a familiar face," the ex-soldier stated with a slight smile, "but no. This comes from the Dean himself. Anyway, I have some things to do." Turning back to the young man before her, Mana put a hand on Ranma's shoulder for a moment, before letting it drop to her side. "It was good seeing you again, Ran."

Blinking at the sudden shift, Ranma nodded absently. "Yeah. Suppose I might see you around, then."

Tapping the card, Mana flipped it over in Ranma's hand. "You know where to find me." With that, the taller woman slipped her goggles down, while replacing her balaclava from her pouch. The entire process lasted no longer than it took for her to reach the same vent she'd appeared from, which she jumped up and swung back into feet-first from another nearby handhold.

Looking at the space that Mana vacated, Nabiki heaved a sigh. "Ranma... did you ever meet any normal people, while growing up?"

"I used to think so," the martial artist replied, while quietly memorizing what was written on the back of the card. "Now? Not so much."

–

"So what's the big deal about Mahora?"

Nabiki paused in her packing, an armful of clothes draped across the top of an already bulging suitcase. They'd only been back in the hotel for about five minutes, but weren't wasting time. With the head's up from Mana, they knew the Yakuza would be coming soon, and that meant they needed to be well on their way back to Nerima. Considering Ranma's question a moment, she felt a little explanation while they packed wouldn't hurt. Besides, maybe there was an angle she'd missed, that it would shed some light on. "Well, can't blame you for not knowing. You know how early on when we were picking out schools, how I marked out a lot?" Seeing Ranma's nod while he collected bath things from the restroom, she continued, "most of those were private academies. Places that you attend by invitation, or having more money than God."

Ranma considered that, Mana, his invitation, and Nabiki's reaction before shrugging. "Which one is Mahora?"

"Both," the middle Tendo groused, punching at the pile of clothes that refused to fit in her case. "It's an elevator school, that works off invitation for the elementary to high school grades. At that level, they take only the best and brightest, and if you can't get in – tough. You don't transfer into Mahora, for regular classes. They call you. Once you're in, if you pass, you progress. No need for entrance exams or anything like that.

"Getting into Mahora at the college level is hard," she continued. "First off, it's prohibitively expensive. As in even Kuno couldn't buy his way in.

"Secondly, most of the earlier years are tailored to get you prepared for it, and other schools just don't have that kind of exacting class load. It's got one of the best records in the country and Asia as a region. Lot of prestige there. Lot of traffic. Getting into Mahora pretty much means you're someone to look out for later on, as everyone that graduates ends up making some kind of impact. The network of people that you'd meet there would be the stuff I dream of."

"Sounds pretty serious," Ranma muttered, flipping the simple business card in his hand around twice. "I don't know why they want me, though."

Nabiki sighed gustily. "Ranma, it doesn't matter why. This is bigger than Toudai, bigger than just about anything outside of two other academies in the world. If they want you for Mahora – you go. It'd be stupid not to."

Slumping down onto the single bed, the pigtailed youth shook his head slowly. "Nabs, you don't get it. I wanted to go to Toudai with you, so I'd have family nearby. I want us to help out the dojo, Kasumi, and Akane. I mean, this sounds great, really, it does, but if it's that expensive, how can I help out like I planned?"

Biting her lip, Nabiki stifled her own thoughts on the subject. If she were brutally honest, most of what she was feeling right now fit well into the category of jealousy. She had better grades, attendance, test scores... _everything_, compared to Ranma. But Mahora wanted him, not her. It had to be for his skill in martial arts, otherwise it simply made no sense. But, since when did Mahora have that kind of interest in jocks?

"Well," she finally offered while rubbing at her temple, "you won't know till you ask. It won't hurt to go and set up an appointment to go by and figure out what's up."

"Suppose not. I don't have to accept after all," the young man replied, his mood improving. "I'd like to know what this is about, really. I hate surprises like this coming up when we've got something good just starting, you know?"

Nabiki nodded as she sat on her suitcase, bouncing slightly to get it shut. "I know. I don't know how this would affect the modeling thing, as Mahora's not too far from Tokyo, being in Kantō and all. At least it isn't here in Kyoto. Riding the trains back and forth would be a pain."

"Speaking of trains, do we really need-"

"Yes," Nabiki ground out. "We do."

Slumping, Ranma conceded the point. "Fine, fine. Are you done packing?"

Nodding, the short-haired girl managed to lift her suitcase. Just. "Yeah, just finished. You?"

Ranma flicked a hand into his sleeve, rooting around in it for a moment. "Think so." Producing his duffel bag from the ki-folded space, the martial artist checked it. "Yeah, all there."

Nabiki shook her head slowly, as Ranma 'hid' the bag behind his back. "Why don't you just pack everything in there, rather than in suitcases and bags?"

"I can store things fine, but I'm not so good with it that I can find individual smaller items," he replied, frowning. "I've only been practicing this for a few months, but the ki needed to make it so I can find any little item is way too much. If Mousse stopped burning all of his ki on a metric ton of crap, he'd be a decent sparring partner."

Tilting her head to the side, the older girl smirked. "So... what you do is sort of how you keep you room. Pile of clean clothes, pile of dirty clothes, pile of other stuff, but no real organization."

Sparing Nabiki a sour glance, Ranma rolled his eyes. "Like I said. Got better things to use my ki for, than cataloging a half ton of crap just so I can do card tricks." He was about to continue, pointing out the weaknesses of the technique when it was used counter to another high-end martial artist that could project their ki, when there was a knock at the door.

"Hotel cleaning service," a voice called from outside the door, causing Nabiki to frown and reach out, stalling Ranma.

"I called the front desk," she hissed in a whisper. "But this is too early for them to be coming by. Plus, I've never seen a male maid in this place, yet."

Understanding Nabiki's concern, Ranma nodded. Moving to the door, he made sure the chain was set before opening it that small amount allowed. "Yes? What's up?"

"Cleaning service," the man repeated, indicating his cart nearby. His uniform fit badly, and looked like a janitor's jumpsuit, with the insignia ripped off. The bellhop's jacket over top of it just made the whole thing ludicrous.

"Right," Ranma agreed, smiling slightly. "Just give me a minute – was getting a shower." Rather than wait for an affirmative, he closed the door, rattling the chain but not removing it. As he did so, he waved Nabiki over urgently.

Pulling her suitcase behind her, the short-haired girl hissed her question, "What's going on?"

Ranma scooped her unceremoniously into his arms, while shoving her bag into his ki-space with a wince. "Guy smells of sake and gun oil. We need to go, now."

"Shi-"

Before Nabiki could finish swearing, the door was kicked in – or would have been if not for the chain. With just that much extra resistance, the wooden barrier held on with one hinge and that small obstruction, as Ranma returned the favor with interest. The man on the other side, foot still braced against the door, went falling backwards with a startled grunt as the martial artist sent the abused room door crashing into him.

"You know, just once when we go somewhere, I'd like to get the deposit back," the middle Tendo complained, while tucking her head against Ranma's shoulder. Said martial artist was barreling down the hall at speed, away from the three other men who'd hidden around corners and in blind spots around their room.

Rolling his eyes, Ranma kicked up against the far wall at a corner, taking three steps along it as he took a turn without slowing. "Not now, Nabs."

The young woman was not to be denied, however. "What is it that attracts this kind of bullshit? I mean, even when I'm not sabotaging shit, this crap happens!"

"Seriously Nabs, this isn't the time," Ranma grumbled, looking over his shoulder as one of the Yakuza he'd blown past cleared the corner. "Hang on, need to get out of the halls!"

"What do you mea-Oh God!"

Having been punched, kicked, blasted, and otherwise propelled through harder things than concrete walls, Ranma had no trouble barreling through the door to the hotel stairwell. It was, however, the first time he'd needed to do so, while carrying someone who couldn't take those kinds of stresses. Turning so he took the impact on his back, Ranma grunted when the door gave way with a sound of rending metal, as it was thrown across the small span of space to impact the far wall with a heavy clang. "You alright?"

Nabiki shuddered from where she was held, before nodding slightly.

Checking the stairwell, Ranma lifted the girl back into a more solid position. "Alright then, just a bit longer. We're going down, fast. Don't scream, and hang on."

Whimpering, the middle Tendo nodded, closed her eyes, and bunched her fists up in Ranma's shirt. "Just, get us out of here."

"You bet," the martial artist assured softly, eyes scanning the hall behind them. Seeing what he expected – three what he assumed to be Yakuza in a staggered line running down the hall his way – he firmed his resolve to the plan. "Man, we had to be on the fifteenth floor."

"Oh you just had to say that didn't you-" Nabiki's snide remark cut off abruptly when Ranma hopped up onto a rail, then straight down the center of the stairwell. Dizzily, the middle Tendo peered down from her position, as all fifteen stories that spanned between her and the floor below began shrinking at a nauseating pace. "Oh God... oh I don't want to die!"

"Gonna be fine Nabs," Ranma muttered against her hair, before kicking out lightly against a wall. Their direction shifted, he began bleeding off speed by changing their downward velocity into a series of angled ricochets that took them from wall to wall. "Almost done."

Wordlessly, Nabiki groaned as she was jostled again, then with a final tooth-jarring contact, the sensation of falling was over. Peering out from a slitted eye, she noted the bright red light of an exit sign, and laughed somewhat hysterically. "Well, that wasn't so bad."

Ranma nodded, his senses straining. "Just like I promised, but we're not done yet. Gonna have to go fast, Nabs. You gonna be ok?"

"Sure, just fell fifteen floors and I'm not dead. I'm good for round two!"

The martial artist winced, but knew he didn't have time to shake Nabiki out of her momentary shock. Thinking back on the other situations where one of the girls from Nerima had been kidnapped or put in a pinch, Ranma had to admit, Akane had always taken it the best. Smiling slightly at the memories, he regardless kept his focus clear. "Alright. When we hit daylight, I'm going up. Fast. So hold on, and again, no screaming, k? Don't want to eat a bug again."

Nabiki giggled and nodded, missing Ranma's frown. He knew people who dealt with stress the way Nabiki did sometimes had break-points when things overwhelmed them, but to see her that vulnerable made him angry. Nabiki shouldn't have to be put in this place, and the martial artist felt guilty that he had been involved getting her there. Swinging his gaze up to the exit, he steeled himself for what was likely going to be a very long afternoon.

As he considered that, Ranma paused for a fraction of a moment. Honestly, if only to himself, this was what he lived for. The conflict, the uncertainty. Sure, he wanted a normal life – sometimes. He didn't want to have to fight for the right to sleep, or eat, or have a roof over his head, but there was something just... right about being in the middle of things, in conflict. Complacency wasn't an idea he understood, or felt comfortable with. Maybe it was the result of too much time in Nerima and on the road, too many rivals, too many fights day in, and day out. Maybe it was just in his blood.

Whatever the reason, Ranma said a quick 'thank you' to the powers that be, for giving him something to remind him what it felt like to really have his blood burning again with that amazing uncertainty.

Settling a fierce grin on his face, Ranma kicked the exit door out with the force of a bomb going off. It took the first three Yakuza waiting between them and Kyoto out instantly, as they were bowled over and bruised – likely broken in places – by the impromptu projectile. While their associates tried to figure out just what the hell happened, Ranma bolted out and then jumped in much the same fashion as he'd recently fell, bouncing between walls as he made for the rooftops.

He'd almost made it, when the first shots rang out, driving his already focused mind into overdrive. Time slowed down and the world went slightly gray, as his ears strained beyond the limit, knowing he didn't have the time or luxury of looking down. '_They would miss,_' his instincts told him, and Ranma listened. Satisfied with his conclusion, the world regained color and time, as the two bullets careened harmlessly into the sky.

A moment later, he was on the roof of a nearby, shorter building, running hard to get speed for the next jump. There was no way in hell the Yakuza in the street could chase him, so they had to follow at a distance, or by guessing. He was going to take their first option away. "Bump ahead," Ranma muttered to his passenger, while bunching his legs after a small hop. He was only paused a moment, before literally launching himself toward the next building, as the ledge he'd briefly lighted on crumbled and shattered from the strain.

He'd lost a little force, but it had been expected, Ranma realized before clearing even a meter, sighting his landing point with a sharp eye. Nabiki somehow sensed their passage through nothing despite her closed eyes, and held on tighter. Landing went easily, and Ranma made a slight noise as he took the shock, wincing as his legs screamed at him for the abuse. "Don't have many more of those left," he noted to himself, knowing that his posture from being unable to use his arms and the added weight of Nabiki were taking a toll.

Sparing a moment to check the street, he saw a lot of chaotic activity, but none of it focused on this building. He wouldn't expect it to be, after all... how many people could jump the width of a city street, and would do so at a height of well over thirty meters?

Fifteen minutes later and at a cafe near the train station, Ranma finally broke through Nabiki's shock. Blinking slowly, a semblance of life returned to the girl's eyes, as the cappuccino under her nose steamed merrily. "Mmm. Oh!" Eyes wide, Nabiki looked around frantically, before she noted Ranma across from her, in girl form, watching over her worriedly. "The-"

"Far behind, and have no idea where we are," Ranma interrupted, not wanting the casual mention of the Yakuza to be made, possibly causing someone to make a call, or worse yet, tempt fate. "We're safe, so relax a little and get yourself back in order."

Nabiki wanted to snap at the currently-redhead over that comment, but held her tongue knowing it was true enough already. Lashing out would only prove it more so, and really, they didn't need that. "Right," she instead muttered unhappily, greedily snatching up to coffee drink before her. "Where are we?"

Ranma nodded to a nearby window, coincidentally as a train passed by with a thunderous rattle. "Just outside the station. If you hadn't snapped out of it soon, I was going to ride on top, since I don't think I could have gotten you on like that.

"The next Tokyo train is in about seven minutes. Are you going to be ok to ride?"

"Of course," she countered with a slightly shaken version of her usual grin. The cappuccino helped, but a few days without any stress would finish the job. "Lets get a move on. I don't want to get bad seats."

Relaxing herself finally, Ranma nodded. This was familiar territory.

Proving Nabiki had a good sense for such things, their seats were the last pair available together, and were thankfully not in a noisy or windy spot. Ranma's relief was short-lived, however. "Alright, we need to talk."

She hated those five words. "What's up, Nabs?"

"For one, this is only going to delay them," the middle Tendo commented pensively. "There is an alliance between Aizukotetsu and Yamaguchi, so this will track us back to Tokyo and Nerima soon."

"Just great," the redhead muttered, halfheartedly punching the back of the seat in front of her. The man there slammed forward into the one before him, dazed and unsure what just happened. Ranma blinked back at a nonplussed Nabiki, who was staring at her with a raised brow. "Right um. So. What do we do about it?"

Nabiki sighed, wishing she had an outlet as clear as the redhead beside her. "For one, we can't lay low and let this pass – you're too public a figure, and they'll be all over us, the dojo, school – everything, if they decide to come." Biting on her thumbnail idly, the girl got a distant look in her eye. "The easy way would be to just... settle it somehow, but then there's pride and honor to take into account."

"Hmm," the martial artist muttered, staring out the window for a moment. "So, they were gonna use Koto for street bets, right?"

"Hustle matches," the middle Tendo corrected, before her eyes widened. "No, Ranma. You can't do that."

The redhead shrugged at Nabiki with a slightly defeated expression. "Hey, the modeling companies don't want my guy side right? So as long as 'Ranko' keeps her nose clean, Ranma can take care of this."

She hedged, but finally nodded. "Alright, it's an option. Not the only one, however. We'll consider it, plan, and prepare, but that's not the only path."

Ranma nodded, having not been too thrilled with the idea either. "I guess my obvious option well... isn't."

"No," Nabiki shook her head with a smirk. "You can't beat up the Yakuza. I mean, individually? Sure. But to get them off your back, you'd need to do so much damage in such a scale that they couldn't possibly consider you a possible target – and then that just means someone else is going to lean on you, for _their_ sake. The problem is it would have been a good idea, but whoever was backing Koto took things upstairs.

"The problem with even that, is that you may have to rely on, or be pushed into lethal force," the young woman continued, tone and expression grim. "They don't play fair, and the Yakuza's honor is more about winning, than any kind of right action or thought. Akane, me, your mother – all fair targets as far as they're concerned. Which is why we need to handle this sooner as opposed to later."

The redhead sighed gustily. "If it hadn't been a televised, public thing, I could have handled a small sub-boss or something, but this," gesturing vaguely, she grumbled. "This is like trying to beat up Sony. Where do you aim? Who do you hit? Where are the pressure points or weak spots on a corporation."

"Leave that to me," Nabiki replied. "But for now, lets just relax. We can think about this more at home. That coffee didn't last long, and now I'm just wanting to sleep after today. We can talk more later, and hopefully have a plan by tomorrow."

–

End AN: No bitching about Ranma vs. Mana. They're not going all out. I got a bit planned for CH2 already. Spreading my time around this, Eclipsed, and Lux. There's also a guilty little fun-fic I'm doing that's a Ranma/Aion cross. Yes. I know. Shutthehellup.


End file.
